


the songs I dreamt

by screechfox



Category: The Bifrost Incident - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Dreams, Eldritch Lyfrassir Edda, Ficlet, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22940938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: He dreams about the Bifrost every night.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106





	the songs I dreamt

He dreams about the Bifrost every night— _the same scenes, the same faces, over and over._

At first, Lyfrassir thinks it’s trauma. He’s more than earned the right to a disquieted mind. He spends hours listening to the signals that escape that rainbow maw, each one fading into— _distortion. Interference. Static._ —a humming melody that resonates in his bones long after he gives up and switches the speakers off. 

He knows, deep in his soul, that he’s the only survivor. An entire system, wiped out in a supernova flare of ever-shifting insanity. Lyfrassir is alone in the cold void of space; no wonder his dreams are uneasy.

When he sleeps, it’s like—

_wandering the carriages_

_the rainbow glow of the Key and the Gate_

_Odin’s face, smiling directly into camera_

_watch and rewatch_

—it’s like he’s trapped there. The shining metal twists around him, bismuth filigree etching itself into his skin. His teeth gleam sharp with madness, his vision blurs with bleeding light.

Odin’s voice is sharp and melodic. There are other words underneath the ones she speaks, patternless sounds that he finds himself repeating in his waking hours. She tells him— _all she had ever dreamed of_ —nothing of use, nothing that makes sense. 

He wakes alone. 

There’s static, whispering in his ears, and a trail of oil-slick blood dripping from his nose. He washes his face with cold water. It’s trauma. It’s cabin fever. That’s all.

The window at the pilot’s seat is cracked across the inner pane. He should be more worried about that. He isn’t. It refracts all light that touches it, sending a kaleidoscope of colours dancing across his skin whenever he sits down to check his course. 

He finds himself waking up in the pilot’s chair more and more often these days. He should be more worried about that. He isn’t.

  
_(The void sings. We’ll answer its call.)_

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed! you can find me on tumblr at [screechfoxes](http://screechfoxes.tumblr.com/), have a good day!


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